


Melting the Snow

by Scruggzi



Series: Adventures and Explorations [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, For some reason they also talk about snow, Lingerie, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Table Sex, clandestine snacking, commanding Jack, light bondage and gratuitous nibbling, now with added waltzing, pff, so apparently this is multi-chapter now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-12-22 12:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11967405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: This started off as a one shot smut fic not quite reunion but not long after Jack gets to England. Whopooh (and others) suggested making it a series in which we see our intrepid detectives explore their bottomless supply of kink as their relationship develops. This was an excellent idea so I did it. Chapters are in chronological order but can mostly be read as stand alone fics.





	1. Melting the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack never saw snow until they came to Europe for the first time. Now back, and staying at Phryne's parent's estate, they look out on the beginning of a snow storm and decide to find some inventive ways to keep warm.

The light breaking through the windows was a grubby, yellow-grey storm light, promising snow. Phryne stood, wrapped in a dressing gown, soaking up the heat from the fire which was not quite sufficient to keep out the winter cold. Silently, she watched the first flakes begin to descend, floating down like feathers towards the immaculately maintained lawn of her parent’s country estate.

She saw Jack’s reflection in the glass behind her before she felt his arms around her waist, his fingers toying gently with the cord of her robe but making no effort to untie it. He didn’t speak, she could see him watching her in the glass of the window, his expression gentle, yet intense; a more efficient source of warmth than the heat of the flames in the little grate.

“I always loved snow.” She told him, smiling softly, “I never saw it until we came here. It was the first week after we arrived, Janey was gone and I didn’t know anyone. Of course, I had to go out to investigate.”

Her voice held a little sadness when she mentioned her sister, but rallied at the remembrance of her first adventure on British soil. Jack had noticed that she brought Janey up more often now they were here, in the childhood home her sister had never lived to see but which seemed perversely haunted by her ghost in a way that Melbourne, where she had lived and died, no longer seemed to be. He did not linger on the subject, for which she was grateful.

“I have no doubt you managed to find someone to lead astray before long.” He was smiling his incremental smile when she turned her head to answer; the one that always made her want to kiss the damn thing off his face before it did her any permanent damage.

“Oh yes, there were plenty of children in the village. The first ones I came across were a group of boys - all old enough to know better, in my opinion - who decided I should be introduced to the concept of a snowball fight.” She tilted her head up at him, her satisfied expression inviting him to draw his own conclusions about the outcome of that fight.

“Really, did any of them survive?” he asked, his brows furrowed in a parody of sympathy for those local lads, clearly unable to keep up with the teenage Miss Fisher, even with a homefield advantage.

“All of them Jack!” she admonished him. “I had to let them live so they could properly acknowledge my victory.”

“Of course.” He nodded in understanding, an affectionate smile fighting its way onto his face, despite his best efforts to suppress it.

“We stayed friends for a time but then one of them got it into his head to enlist and before I knew it they were all signed up to fight. By the time I left for France myself…”

She let the sentence hang, turning her gaze back to the window, neither of them needed reminding of the cost of that war. She closed her eyes briefly and exhaled as he kissed her hair, his arms around her waist held a little tighter, she relaxed her body into him, letting the warmth of peaceful contentment flood through her at his touch, driving out the cold and the shadows.

“I was in a trench the first time I saw snow, I can’t say I was very impressed, although I’ll admit it’s a lot more pleasant when you’re inside and no-one’s actively trying to kill you.” Their eyes met briefly in the reflection again, sharing the memory of a killer in the mountains, of fears now overcome.

Jack broke her gaze and began scrutinising the view out of the window with interest, snow was a rare, almost exotic experience for him even now. There was something sad but beautiful in the settling flakes which were busily turning the green-grey of the lifeless winter garden to flawless white, the black of the skeletal trees standing stark against the sky.

“Well I can’t promise _that_ will last.” Phryne looked appalled at the idea that their time in England could fail to feature any risk to life or limb. “There are bound to be some criminals around here somewhere.”

She met his eyes in the glass once again, the lingering sadness of her memories entirely extinguished and replaced by a cheeky smile, delighted in the prospect of baiting him with danger. He let his hands wander almost imperceptibly higher, teasing along her ribs, his fingers slipping just fractionally beneath the top layer of the fabric, not quite far enough to touch her skin.

“If you can resist your natural inclination to find trouble for a few hours, Miss Fisher, I have some other suggestions about how we might spend our afternoon.”

His voice had dropped to a low register and his lips had found their way to the back of her neck. A very promising development.

“Hmm. Whatever did you have in mind, Inspector?” she turned back to him, her hands stroking up the planes of his chest to rest on his shoulders.

Opting to show rather than tell, Jack leaned down to kiss her. It was a kiss to keep the world at bay and make everything between them – sometimes so complex and fraught with hazards and confusion – feel completely right and wonderfully simple. It was thorough, slow, commanding, delicious and inexorable, enveloping them in a warm cocoon of firelight where nothing mattered but each other.

“I like this plan.” Phryne murmured against his lips, taking his hands in hers and pulling him towards the bed.

She settled against the pillows, watching in anticipation as he shucked off his robe, leaving him bare before her, his body all lean muscle and smooth skin. He hovered over her, his lips just out of reach, considering his next move, his eyes giving nothing away.

A flickering smile played around the corners of her mouth. Dear Jack, so serious, so determined to please. It had its charms of course - damnit, everything the man did somehow seemed to sidle like a sly smile into her heart and make her love him more – still, the temptation was always there to try and make that dour façade crack. She stroked her hand ever so gently down his spine before smacking his arse, hard.

“Get on with it, Inspector.” She was grinning.

He scowled at her, “assaulting an officer of the law is a serious offence, Miss Fisher.”

“Well It wouldn’t be the first time. Are you going to clap me in irons?” He did not miss the hint of suggestion in that comment, which he filed away carefully for future reference.

“Sadly, as I am not a policeman here, I didn’t think to bring any. You will just have to learn to behave yourself.”

His tone was one of gentle rebuke, clearly intended to encourage her. Phryne was about to reply that that ‘behaving herself’ was hardly an enticing prospect when the alternatives were so much more fun, but Jack had carefully taken the hand now tenderly caressing his backside and placed it gently but firmly on the pillow beside her head. His eyes on hers held a question and a challenge, oh _damn him_ he knew she could never resist a challenge. She smiled and bit her lip, nodding slightly, willing to play his game this time, she was certain they would both emerge as winners after all.       

Jack raised her other hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, drawing each finger slowly into his mouth.

“This hand, that kings have lipp’d and trembled kissing.” He breathed against her palm, sending pleasant shivers across her skin which had nothing to do with the cold air of the room.

“Hmm, you make a fine Cleopatra Jack, maybe I should try dressing you in my tires and mantles, I’m sure you’d wear them well.” She teased, willing to acquiesce, but only to a point.

“Perhaps another time, although I’m not sure they would suit me” he pressed the hand he was still stroking softly into the pillow on the other side of her head, “for now, I want to see if you can keep these to yourself,” he resumed kissing her, starting just below her ear, “so I can enjoy,” he moved across her exposed throat as she arched her neck in encouragement, “every part of you,” his hand had found its way to the cord of her dressing gown once more, “without distractions.”

Phryne decided that this seemed a reasonable compromise, at least for now, especially if he planned to keep doing _that_ with his tongue, so she relaxed further into the pillows to watch him work, her expression regal and indulgent as she waited to see what he would do next. Jack undid the cord of her robe with deft fingers, letting her feel the tightening and loosening of the fabric, building the tension up without actually touching her, except with his lips and tongue, which were still caressing the skin of her throat with soft exploratory kisses.

He moved his hands under the thick, padded silk of her dressing gown, sliding them over the fabric till he found her skin, pushing it back until she was fully exposed to the chill air of the room. His kisses began to travel lower, light as melting snowflakes, his breath warm against her skin. Phryne hummed in a mixture of pleasure and anticipation, forcing her hands back into the pillows to keep herself from touching him. He was beautiful to watch, all desire and dedication, his darkened eyes burning as he looked down at her in contemplation, gathering evidence of pleasure, rewarding every moan and whimper, focusing on spots which teased, avoiding the places he knew she wanted him most.

Phryne was finding it harder and harder not to move, to push his head towards her breasts or down between her legs, she began to pulse her hips upwards, writhing against him in search of relief from the tension that hummed across her skin. He stilled her with a hand across her hip, gently shaking his head as he raised his mouth from an in-depth investigation of her stomach at the point where it met her rib cage.

_“Jack, please.”_

Phryne Fisher did not beg if she could help it and she had not intended to do so this soon, but clearly this was what he wanted. The smile he flashed her was victorious and would certainly earn him a robust punishment at some point in the future. It would have to wait though, because he responded by bending his head and taking her nipple between his lips, caressing it with teeth and tongue as his hand lavished attention on her other breast. The heat of his mouth felt wonderful against the chill of her skin and Phryne let out a sharp cry, arching her back into his touch, wanting all of him at once, gasping his name.

Jack closed his eyes, luxuriating in the taste and texture of her hardened nipple against his tongue. The sight of her like this, magnificent and uninhibited in her pursuit of pleasure was almost too much for him to bare, like staring directly into the sun. It was addictive, the power that came with being the cause of it, he thought he might never get enough, he knew he never wanted to. Stroking his fingers gently down her side, Jack found the strip of skin between her hip bone and thigh that drove her to distraction. She shivered as his mouth followed his fingers, moving ever lower, ever closer to where she wanted him.

“Say that again.” His voice was rough with desire but it was still a command.

He suspected he was flirting with risk here, but apparently he was wrong. In fact, at this point Phryne was more than ready to sacrifice a little dignity if it got the man’s mouth between her thighs where it bloody well belonged.

_“Please.”_

He couldn’t resist her any longer; his fingers stroked slowly through her sex, the slight pressure to either side of her clitoris causing a smouldering heat to send a flush across her cheeks. She bit her lip and urged him on with subtle movements of her hips. Jack lowered his mouth to her, his tongue teasing at her entrance and the moan he let out at finally being able to taste her made Phryne realise this slow dance had been torturing him as much as her.

_“More, Jack, more…”_

Jack was running out of his seemingly never-ending patience, ready now to give her anything she asked for. She had fulfilled her side of the bargain after all, her hands had moved back slightly but only to grip the headboard, forcing herself not to bring them down and run her fingers through his hair as he fucked her with lips and tongue and fingers till she clenched and shook around him, screaming out his name.

He kissed his way back up her body, his lips light against her sensitive skin, her eyes were closed, her hair falling into her face and her hands curled loosely back on the pillows on either side of her head. As he reached up to smooth the silky strands, her lashes flickered and he was gazing into satisfied, mischievous eyes.

“Alright?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“You are…” he shook his head with a rare, broad smile, lost for words, unable to describe just how glorious she looked to him in that moment.

“Well I do my best,” she grinned back, appreciating the compliment and still catching her breath, “do you still want me to keep my hands to myself?”

“For the moment. If you think you can control yourself.”

She shot him a slightly condescending look at that which he felt he probably deserved, but hearing Phryne Fisher scream your name in ecstasy can have an appalling effect on a man’s ego. By way of apology, he bent down to kiss her again, rising over her and threading his fingers through hers as he came to rest, the heat of his erection against her belly.

Phryne’s hands might be pinned, as much by her pride and refusal to lose their game as by the weight of Jack's body against her, but her legs were not; she began to run her foot up and down the skin of Jack’s calf, making him chuckle even as he kissed her. Always there was some part of her that would never fully submit, even to him and by God he loved her for it. The expression on his face as he pulled back to look into her eyes was full of an exasperated admiration that told her so. Phryne remembered an old lover, who, in a fit of rage, had told her that for all her professed love of life, there was nothing but ice in her heart. She had not cared for the man’s opinion, right or wrong, but when Jack looked at her like that she was quite certain no frozen splinter lodged there would ever stand a chance again. Keeping her hands still flat to the bed she leaned up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth, melting into him, hoping that he could feel all the truths she couldn’t yet put in to words in the silent press of her lips on his.

He thrust into her slowly, drawing out the moment, feeling her muscles clench around him as they both gasped. The shear bliss of being inside her, this ancient connection, so primal and all-encompassing - it was almost enough to make him forget their play. His mind was a perfect blank, occupied only by sensation, climbing moment to moment, entwined together body and soul. Phryne’s lips and teeth were on his neck and scraping across his jaw, her legs wrapped tight around his hips as she met his thrusts panting out sharp, hot breaths into the cold air. She was close again, but he was no longer in control, his rhythm breaking, hips stuttering against hers as together they each surrendered to the other’s pleasure, their mingled shout of release muffled by the sleepy silence of falling snow.

It took Jack a little while to realise that he was still holding onto Phryne’s hands. He released her a little sheepishly, rolling onto his back and letting her snuggle close, free at last to thread her fingers through his damp hair and stroke her hand across his face, wiping the chill sweat from his brow. They would need to cover up soon, but for now it was enough just to be together, enjoying this little moment of peace where nothing else was needed or required of them but simply to lie here safe and sated in each other’s arms, the way the world should be.

At length Jack caught up Phryne’s hand in his once more, bringing her wrist to his lips and kissing it, first the back, then at her pulse point.

“What you said before, about me clapping you in irons...?”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the question out loud. Phryne, of course was delighted.

“Would you enjoy that, Jack?”

He nodded a little shyly, this world still new to him but so filled with possibilities.

“And what about if the irons weren’t for me?”

His eyes widened a little at the thought, a shiver and a thrill running through him.

“I think I could be persuaded.”

“Something to look forward to then, Inspector.”

She smiled wickedly into his mouth as she kissed him, and he reached behind her to pull the duvet over, insulating them in a little bubble of warmth, the starched white counterpane covering their cooling bodies like the thick blanket of snow now obscuring the lawn outside the window.


	2. The Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Phryne's birthday and her parents have thrown her a lavish party; Jack is determined to make sure she enjoys herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people mentioned that it might be nice to continue this fic as Jack explores the vortex of undiscovered kink that I'm convinced lies at the heart of his character. There will probably be more as I come up with them - this was supposed to be pff for this month but life happened.
> 
> All of the thanks to firesign for being a fantastic beta as always.

Phryne examined her reflection in her dressing table mirror and after a moment’s deliberation chose a shade of lipstick a little darker than her usual colour. It complemented the gown she was wearing; a dark, indigo silk embroidered with black sequined swirls, with a heavy fringe of jet beading along the asymmetrical line of the skirt. Her hair was ornamented with a feathered fascinator, the delicate white plumes contrasting nicely with her hair. Perfect.

She couldn’t wait to see Jack’s reaction; she had plans tonight to lead him astray.

It had been a heady two weeks since his arrival in Somerset; it was late in the year and he had reached her just in time for them to share the first snowfall of the season. Since then they had barely left her room, at least, not more than politeness, and one extremely memorable snowball fight had necessitated. There had been a moment, after Phryne, in mock outrage over Jack’s well-aimed snowball, had kissed him in retaliation, then pulled him over into a snowdrift and rolled him down a shallow bank. When they reached the bottom he had pinned her, laughing, on the frozen ground and kissed her so thoroughly she felt the world drop away. When he pulled back, she saw him looking down at her with such unrestrained and unrepentant want that she thought he might take her right there in that snow drift; in fact, she rather hoped he would. Still, something - whether the freezing air or his own lingering sense of propriety - had held him back. Not that she had any complaints; he had shown considerable dedication to the task of warming her up once they got back inside.

Whatever they became to each other once they let the world back in, they both knew that this part of their relationship was unsustainable; but it was also exhilarating and they had certainly been making up for lost time. Having finally decided to jump off this particular cliff together they were intent on enjoying every moment, content for now to be entirely lost in one another. Phryne was not accustomed to thinking about the future, but sometimes Jack would look at her with those unrelenting, steady blue eyes and she was forced to wonder if a deep enough ocean could catch you when you fell. Or if you could choose to never stop falling.

The future and its associated uncertainties could look after itself, right now, she was just happy to have him here.

Especially today.

As she rose from her dressing table, Phryne glanced down briefly at the framed photograph that sat beside her jewellery box; herself as a young child alongside Arthur, who was eating a toffee apple, and Janey, laughing up at the camera.

She set her jaw and went downstairs to join her birthday party. Tonight was not a night for ghosts.

***

Jack was sitting slightly awkwardly in his dinner suit alongside Margaret Fisher, who was dropping a series of increasingly transparent hints about her hopes for a Fisher-Robinson wedding, and Henry, who had wisely chosen not to comment. They had at least furnished him with a glass of rather fine whiskey, which Jack was probably drinking a little too quickly. The first of the guests had already arrived and he had been pointedly introduced to them as ‘Phryne’s dear friend Jack’ in a way which implied that their engagement was practically imminent, and Margaret had now moved on to expounding at length on the romance of elopement. Jack kept his opinions to himself on that matter; especially as the woman appeared to be holding up her own marriage as a shining example.

He felt a little uncomfortable around Phryne’s parents, despite their gracious disinclination to question their daughter’s sleeping arrangements, he did not like the weight of responsibility they placed on her or the toll he could see it take on her usually irrepressible _joie de vivre_. Margaret's unsubtle attempt to interfere in his and Phryne's burgeoning relationship was a little irritating, but it was not his only source of discomfort this evening. He knew his partner well enough to be certain that when she appeared she would be the light and life of the party, despite the painful memories which would always haunt this day. She had finally laid her sister to rest, and he knew that had given her solace, but Phryne’s birthday would always belong in part to Janey; the child she was and the adult she would never be.

He planned to do his level best to help her live life to the hilt tonight and he thought he knew just how to surprise her; it was a thrilling and terrifying prospect. He smiled to himself; apparently that was a combination he was unable to resist.  

A movement at the top of the stairs caught his eye and he looked up. She was there, glorious in purple silk and wearing a joyous, iridescent smile; Jack temporarily forgot how to breathe. Phryne caught his eye, looking delighted at his reaction and the sight of him in evening dress. He felt his confidence soar and he tilted a smile at her, raising his glass in welcome.

Margaret gave her husband a satisfied look, apparently under the impression that her plans for her daughter’s matrimony were coming along nicely, and mercifully steered Henry off to talk to some of their other guests, allowing the two detectives the privacy of each other’s company.

“You’re looking especially dashing tonight, Inspector. I shall have to keep my eye on you.” She lent in to straighten his already impeccably straight bow tie.

“Well, as your mother appears to have our wedding already planned, I should probably at least attempt to behave myself.” He planted a chaste and entirely respectable kiss on her cheek, before leaning down to whisper in her ear, “although I might be persuaded otherwise.”

Phryne gasped in delighted surprise; what a marvellous development! She made up her mind instantly that she would persuade him very thoroughly as soon as the opportunity arose. Sadly, however it would have to wait; she had a party to host, and before she could compromise his integrity in a convenient cupboard, she fully intended to show her inspector off to all of London high society.

“I’ll remember that,” she replied with a dangerous smile, “but first, help me to celebrate.”

There was no need for them to say anything more. Neither of them would forget the year before when she had first asked that of him. Jack took her hand, squeezing it in gentle reassurance, before tilting his head with a roguish smirk, every inch her scandalous antipodean paramour, and offered her his arm.

“Lead the way, Miss Fisher.”

She did, introducing him to a bewildering selection of knights and viscounts, actors, artists and occasionally the better class of anarchist - it was Phryne Fisher’s party after all. As the evening progressed she delighted in telling increasingly embellished stories of their adventures in Melbourne; of the body in the powder room at the House of Fleuri, of bootleg rum under the Queenscliff pier, and of the capture of treasonous communists by plane and motorbike.

Jack thought she made it all sound much more dramatic – and him a lot more dashing - than it was in his memory. He half expected this semi-fictional version of himself to swing from a chandelier or some other picture house nonsense. That was Phryne though; magnificent as she undoubtedly was, she played out the drama with style but never stayed around for the paperwork. Actually, after a few glasses of excellent champagne and some truly delicious _hors d’oeuvres_ , Jack found he was enjoying himself; many of Phryne’s friends were fascinating people, and Phryne was at her charming and vivacious best. He could barely take his eyes off her. After dinner he led her in a waltz, eyes locked as they kept in perfect step, drawing the attention of the crowd, the Baron and Baroness twirling beside them, reliving their misspent youth at The Grand.

By 3am Phryne had seen the last of the guests out into their taxis with a wave and a smile. Once they were alone she seemed to deflate a little, slipping her arms around Jack’s waist and holding him close, feeling the comforting pulse of life beating warm and steady through the fine cotton of his dress shirt. Gently he stroked her hair, removing the feather headdress and planting a soft kiss on the top of her head. The crowded room had been hot and his jacket had been removed an hour ago, his bow tie hung loose around his neck, and he felt a little giddy from champagne and Phryne’s closeness. They stood in the darkened ballroom amidst the chaos of plates and empty glasses, holding each other in silence whilst she regained a measure of her customary vivacity. When she looked up and spoke, her voice was normal and the twinkle of mischief had returned to her eyes. 

“You were quite the success tonight, Inspector. I thought I was going to lose you to that Russian Heiress at one point!”

“Anastasia? I believe I last saw her talking to Guy and Isabella so I’m sure her evening ended well,” he pulled an expression of mock tragedy that might have fooled a casual observer, “she never even said goodbye.”

“Oh darling, you must be heartbroken.”

His eyes were dark in the dim light and he was wearing that slight, quiet smile that softened the edges of his sharp features. Her strength and vitality in these moments were awe inspiring and felt honoured and humbled that she trusted him enough to let him bear a little of the weight he knew she carried. He glanced around the deserted room, listening for any sounds in the sleeping house that might indicate a possible interruption. Hearing nothing, he stepped over to the gramophone and selected a record. As the steady three beat rhythm began he extended a hand.

“Would you do me the honour, Miss Fisher?”

“I believe I could be tempted, Inspector.”

As he led her slowly around the room, she felt a wave of gratitude and tenderness for this man; he saw the shadows that followed her, saw her strength and saw that she was equal to them. There was no pity in his eyes, only love and respect and an admiration that left her breathless. Leaning into him as they danced, Phryne felt lighter, and she relaxed into the steps, content to let him lead - for the moment.

Jack’s face was serious now, his eyes intense and penetrating, gazing into hers with rapt attention. Phryne could feel the familiar heat beginning to rise inside her, spinning out from her core in threads of rose and gold till it reached the tips of her fingers. She started to trace tiny circles through the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, her eyes never leaving his. His hand was touching the bare skin at her shoulder, where the back of her gown hung low, and Phryne felt that slight contact like a burning flame, as slowly, softly he began to stroke the underside of her shoulder blade. Their arms were still outstretched as they turned with the music, but their hands loosened their formal grip, their fingers intertwining, their bodies moving ever closer, still dancing, still in step. Jack moved behind her, following the dance, the tips of his fingers lingering feather soft across her back and down to her waist, three steps, then up to her shoulder again, trailing gooseflesh.

As he moved back to face her, Phryne stepped close, pressing her body to his. Without breaking step Jack lent in, kissing her lips, her neck, the bare skin on her shoulder; when she moved her hand away from the accepted pose to squeeze his backside, she could feel him smiling. Then Jack’s clever fingers located the concealed fastenings at the shoulder that held the dress closed, teasing them just to watch her shiver in anticipation, still wondering if he dared to do what he had been fantasising about since he first saw her in that dress. Phryne moaned appreciatively, her hand moving in to work the buttons on his waistcoat and Jack…dared. He let his fingers wander down to caress her naked back, slipping beneath the silk and satin to find the smooth, perfect skin of her derrière, then continued his progress with his mouth, kissing along her shoulder towards those hidden fastenings until, with a deft flick of tongue and teeth, the gown fell away. He stepped back just a little to let it drop, looking unacceptably pleased with himself.

The electrostatic crackle as the jet beading hit the parquet floor made Phryne’s blood race; this man really needed to be wearing fewer clothes. She met his lips with hard, forceful kisses, pushing him back towards the edge of the room where low sofas and tables had been arranged to allow people to watch the dancing. She had him down to his singlet and underwear before he got there, her less than delicate touch scattering shell buttons from his dress shirt across the floor. Jack was a long way from caring. When she was like this, wild and hungry and unrestrained, it awoke something inside him he had not known was there, something dark and uncontrolled that met her passion and matched it.

They sank onto the closest chaise, Phryne straddling Jack's waist, her nails leaving pink scratches along his ribs as she dragged his singlet over his head. The low back of her gown had not allowed for a slip or brassiere so she was already naked to the waist, the soft peaks of her nipples pressed tight against Jack's chest as they resumed their frantic, eager kisses. Phryne pulled back, panting and pressed a bare breast against Jack’s lips which parted, giving way to the rough caress of his tongue. She held his head close, letting out a sharp gasp of pleasure and rubbing her hips against his, loving the feel of his cock through the last layers of cotton and silk that separated them.

Phryne felt alive, wickedly debauched and dangerous, but even positioned below her she could feel the energy of Jack’s passion as power, not submission – although in some ways perhaps it was. He had finally submitted to the temptation to let go, abandoning his last shreds of reason and control; he was no longer holding anything back. She knew he wanted this, the danger of discovery, he had admitted as much after their snowball fight; but she also knew he was doing this for her - a better distraction from shadows than anything else he could have thought of.

Jack’s mind was operating in primary colours, consumed with the immediacy of touch and taste, the sharp pull of Phryne’s fingers in his hair and the heat of her against his cock. This freedom, to silence the constant flow of analysis and observation his mind engaged in and simply be alive and present in an all-consuming moment of mingled hunger and gratification. It was a miraculous thing, compounded by the ever present possibility that they might be caught, which somehow felt more exciting than mortifying.

It was at that point that the sharp heel of one of Phryne’s shoes connected with Jack’s ankle.

“Ouch,” he glowered at the offending item; this was not the time for unnecessary sartorial distractions, however well she wore them.

“Oh dear, that sounded rather painful, are you alright?” she asked, more amused than sympathetic.

“I’m sure I’ll survive, but in the interests of avoiding further injury perhaps you could..?”

He gestured towards her feet, indicating that Phryne should disarm herself, which she did, and for good measure dispensed with her stockings and garter belt before returning to sit astride him. Jack began once again to caress her breasts, drawing lazy circles around her nipples with the tip of his finger.

“I should know by now not to leave my shins unguarded around you.”

“Is that your Achilles heel, Inspector,” she palmed his erection through the fabric of his undershorts, “or should I be aiming a little higher up?”

He arched into her touch, humming in pleasure and began teasing her nipples between his fingers.

“Oh, you know all too well where my weakness lies, Miss Fisher,” he replied. “Now, where was I?”

“About to be thoroughly and quite expertly ravished, Inspector. Unless you have a more specific suggestion?”

“Well…” his eyes, which had been pleasantly occupied with the delightful view of Phryne’s flushed face and the sight of his hands on her naked breasts, flicked momentarily over her shoulder, “there is something I would like to try.”

Phryne glanced behind her at the bare expanse of wall behind the chaise; now that was an interesting development. He had been so serious the first few times they had made love, so earnest, as if he felt he had something to prove; Phryne had decided it was practically her duty to introduce him to every pleasure she could dream up for them, to teach him to let go. He was proving an especially adept pupil and tonight - tipsy on champagne, next to naked in her parent’s ball room and suggesting a tryst against a wall - Phryne couldn’t help feeling strangely proud of him. Not such a dour inspector now, although in truth she doubted that he ever really had been; he had just needed a little encouragement.

Jack’s fingers had travelled from her breasts to her back, trailing down her spine and under the hem of her tap pants so he could enjoy the curve of her backside as she resumed rocking against him. Phryne shifted her hips, allowing him to slide the satin down her legs, moaning into his mouth and nipping at his lips as the steadying hand at her back was joined by another between her legs. The slow sure motions of Jack’s finger against her clitoris made her gasp in pleasure,  the tension of climax building in her core sending pulsing sparks radiating out to the end of her every nerve.

Phryne’s hands were roaming over Jack’s skin, exploring every inch of him with frantic fingers. She had always loved to touch him, pushing the boundaries of acceptable just to see what he would do about it. Now, now that she knew just what he liked, knew the secret places that would make him beg and moan, she could barely restrain herself even in polite company; thankfully, right now, there was no need to try. She slipped her hands into his undershorts, pulling them off and flinging them contemptuously aside, before grasping him firmly, relishing the solid warmth and weight against her hand. He groaned and thrust into her grip as she began to stroke him, moving his fingers from her clit to her core, speeding up his movements to match her own desperate touches.

Jack could tell she was close now, but he was not entirely in charge of the situation; Phryne was thrusting down hard onto his fingers whilst stroking the base of his cock, the force of their joined movements pressing his cockhead hard into her clit, her palm coating his erection with her arousal. Her pleasure was such a blissful thing to be a part of, something wild and perfect and uncontrolled, without rules or reason. Phryne stiffened and he felt her tense around his fingers as she came, her eyes squeezed shut, biting down hard on her bottom lip to contain her scream. Jack loved to watch her in this moment; the flush across her chest and over her cheeks, the sounds she made - it was intoxicating. Her movements slowed as she savoured the sweet frisson of energy still coursing through her; she slid her hands up over his shoulders and around his neck, pulling his lips to hers, her kisses languid and satisfied.

“I believe you had plans for us, Jack,” she whispered, pulling back a little to enjoy the sight of him undone, all flushed cheeks and dark eyes; he was so beautiful.

“I do,” he agreed, leaning in to growl into her ear, “I plan to take you hard against that wall until you scream so loud you wake the household.”

‘My God,’ Phryne thought, feeling a light tremor rock through her at the sound of his words ‘he really is learning.’

The only response she made was to rise up and pull him off of the chaise, backing up so he could press her close against the wall. It turned out to be colder than she anticipated; the icy chill of the winter night had seeped in through the stonework, making her start momentarily forward into Jack’s arms. The unexpected contrast against the heat of her skin was met at once by the warm press of his body against hers and she forgot the cold; there was nothing now but heat and need and love, mingled in a heady cocktail more potent than whisky or champagne.

Phryne raised her leg up and Jack gripped her thighs, hoisting her up against the wall, letting her sink down onto him and lock her legs around his back. He felt so good inside her; it was addictive, this connection, she was lost in free fall yet somehow safe and soaring high above the clouds. Each sharp thrust of Jack’s cock hit some place deep inside that fogged her vision and had her moaning and ravishing his neck and jaw with wanton, needy kisses, her hands at his back pulling him closer.

Jack could feel the sweat beading on his brow, the strain in the muscles of his thighs would ache later but at this moment he could feel nothing but the slick wet heat around his pounding cock and the sharp, sucking bites as Phryne’s kisses became rougher, more desperate. His back was already covered in tiny scratches from her nails; she was marking him, claiming him, and he was beyond grateful to be hers. The position did not give her much room to move, so she was squeezing him inside, pulling him with her into ecstasy as she screamed his name, loud enough to wake the dead, or to chase away her ghosts. He spasmed, thrusting hard and deep as he lost himself in her, his own choked cry muffled by Phryne’s hair as he buried his face in her shoulder, half blind and gasping for air.

It was Phryne who came to herself first, gently stroking Jack’s hair as he braced himself against the wall behind her. Her kisses were sweet and tender, praising him for his bravery, for letting go, for not holding back.

“We should get cleaned up,” she smiled at him. “Much as I enjoy an adventurous location, I’m sure neither one of us wants to have to face my mother in the morning if someone finds us here.”

“Fair point, perhaps I should have considered that before getting us into such a compromised position.” He looked down a at their still joined bodies, his face more amused than contrite; she was clearly a terrible influence on him.

Phryne laughed, delighted, and pressed a swift kiss to his lips, “compromise me anytime, Inspector.”

She eased herself down off the wall onto unsteady legs, peering into the corners of the room in search of her discarded clothing. Ever the gentleman, Jack improvised with what were probably very expensive napkins to get them cleaned up and retrieved an errant stocking under the chaise. Having managed to locate the majority of his dinner suit, he decided to abandon the buttons which had scattered into the shadows under the buffet table along with his bow tie. They could worry about the little details in the morning.

Phryne caught his hand as he collected the last of his discarded clothes, squeezing it in silent gratitude. Fun as the evening had been, she realised the risk he had taken; he had done something that frightened him to make her feel wanted and alive and she was determined to find a multitude of ways to thank him for it.

Rising on tiptoes in bare feet she lent in close to whisper in his ear.

“Race you to the top of the stairs!” then bolted towards the door, snagging a spare bottle of champagne from a table as she went.

Jack was left two steps behind, shaking his head in amusement before following her, a little unsteady on is feet and no longer worried about being overheard. They ran dishevelled and debauched through the dark halls of the manor, too saturated with life and laughter for any ghosts to follow them.


	3. Burning Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This started off as 'Phryne's in lingerie, Jack's tied to the bed' and somehow it acquired a Willam Blake theme...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to sarahtoo for betaing not once but twice! It is much appreciated and I am now one step closer to my elusive goal of figuring out how commas work!

 

“Jack!”

Phryne entered the bedroom in a flourish of fur and feathers, fresh from a day shopping in London with her friends; Jack looked up from the chaise where he was busily engrossed in the collected works of William Blake.

“You haven’t been hiding out here all day?” She admonished. He had been left with strict instructions to go and enjoy himself after declining an invitation to accompany her on a mission to replenish her wardrobe, which had been unacceptably depleted by the demands of air travel.

“Actually I’ve only just got in,” he waved the book, “I’ve been gathering reading material. Can’t expect you to keep me entertained for my entire holiday.”

“I don’t know, Jack. I can be very entertaining, when I put my mind to it.”

There was a lilt in her voice that caught his attention - what was she up to? Whatever it was Jack decided that further investigation was in order, knowing Phryne it could be just about anything. He set his book down and gave her his full attention.

“Did you have something in particular in mind?”

“I discovered the most wonderful fashion house. I think one or two of my purchases might prove of interest.”

He raised his eyebrows at her in question but she did not elaborate, instead drifting over to the dressing screen; Jack made to join her but she shooed him away, telling him to go sit on the bed and wait. Electing not to argue he did as he was told, stripping off shoes and socks and, for good measure, his jacket before propping himself up against the pillows.

Phryne emerged from behind the screen in a long, floating silk kimono patterned in shades of flame. It looked like an inferno brought to life, with little flashes of crimson picking out the deep auburn and black, all wound about with threads of gold.

“Very nice.” He beckoned her over, eager to feel the soft cloth under his hands and even more eager to dispense with it entirely.

“Not yet.” Phryne stood her ground, still smiling in a way which should perhaps have been slightly worrying.

He tilted his head, wondering where she was going with this. She was definitely up to something. He felt a thrill of curiosity, of daring, realising he was about to discover something new.   

“No?”

“You’re overdressed.”

“And you don’t want to help with that?”

“Oh I’m sure you can manage.”

He shot her a filthy look from under his long eyelashes. Deciding that if she wanted him to undress for her he might as well give her a show, he made to get off the bed, thinking this little game would work better if he began it standing up. To his surprise she stopped him.

“I never said you could get up, Jack.” There was a commanding harmonic to her voice that made him shiver and he had to work hard to keep his response impassive.

“So I’m following your orders now, is that it?”

“Yes, it is.”

Jack swallowed. So far, she had tested his boundaries judiciously. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman and much, much longer since he had been able to see sex as something vital and exciting; a mystery to be explored. Phryne had done her best to lead by letting him lead, building his confidence. He knew it, and he also knew she could turn the tables on him any time she pleased. It was an intriguing prospect.

Slowly he nodded, then sat back down on the bed and began to unbutton his waistcoat. When he pulled it off she drew closer, holding out her hand to take it from him, folding it neatly and setting it down on the chaise where he had been sitting. The intensity of her expression was doing terrible, wonderful things to him, he felt like an unarmed man in the presence of Blake’s tyger; awed by her perfection, uncertain whether or not that enigmatic smile was a prelude to his own destruction – a fearful symmetry indeed.

His hands shook a little as he moved to the buttons on his shirt, fumbling as he undid the cuffs and pulled it over his head along with his singlet. She returned to his side, her eyes softer now, searching his face.

“Is this alright, Jack?”

“Yes.” His hoarse whisper betrayed how very much he wanted this, feared it and wanted it; giving up, giving in, giving himself, entirely over to her.

Phryne was apparently convinced of his sincerity because she rewarded him with a kiss, perversely soft and surprisingly tender, thanking him for his trust in her, promising his safe return from whatever dark corners of depravity she intended to lead him into.

She pulled back, her eyes alight with possibilities. “Keep going.”

He nodded, not sure if he trusted his voice, and dispensed swiftly with his trousers and smalls. At a flick of her finger he handed them over, and she made a deliberate play of folding them up and placing them out of his reach. He assumed that he would not be requiring them again this evening. Jack lay on the bed naked and exposed, whilst she stood tall above him, fully covered in the gauzy silk which clung lightly to her every curve, leaving tantalising hints at the bounty which lay beneath.

When she turned back to him it was with a hungry, dangerous expression, feasting on the sight of him with a force that had him breathing heavily and growing hard under her gaze, though she had not as much as touched him. She smiled in satisfaction, admiring the picture he made, leaning back against the pillows, head resting on his hands beneath the decorative iron swirls of the headboard. Now, there was an interesting idea…

“You, Jack Robinson, are a magnificent sight.”

He felt himself blush.

“Thank you.” He tried to deploy a self-depreciating smirk but was fairly sure he didn’t pull it off. “Care to join me?”

In lieu of an answer, she whipped the cord from around the waist of her dressing gown, letting it dangle from her fingers, advancing on him with predatory deliberation and straddling his waist. The gossamer folds of fabric parted in places to reveal lightning flashes of golden satin and black lace that had him reaching up, eager to feel heat of her skin through the delicate fabric. She stopped him with a look, holding out the hand which still held the cord of her gown and letting the ends of the folded silk tickle his chest.

“Hands up, Inspector.” She flicked her eyes towards the bedstead, and the curves and flourishes of dark metal suddenly acquired an element of promise which rose up to fill Jack’s world.

His smile was bashful, almost shy, as he obeyed, crossing his wrists above his head and letting her stretch up and bind him gently to the cool metal. Her movements were deft and uncompromising, the knots unyielding but not uncomfortable. She sealed the binding with a kiss against each wrist, stroking her fingers along the sinewy muscles of his arms.

“Mmm, well this is delightful. I’ve always wanted to have you at my mercy.” Phryne had resumed her position astride his waist, his impatient erection lost in a jungle of silk and satin.

“A terrifying prospect. I'm almost afraid to ask what comes next.” He was doing his best to keep his voice dry, as if he was nothing but amused, indulging her games.

She wasn't fooled.

Phryne bent her head to kiss him, a fleeting press of lips, pulling back swiftly to make him chase her as much as his bonds would allow.

“I spent far too long being denied this wonderful body of yours,” she bent her head again, this time dipping to nip at his ear then running her tongue down the tendon standing out taut on his neck as he inhaled sharply.

“And now,” she continued exploring him, slowly, possessively, feline in her grace and self-assurance, “you're all mine.”

Jack cried out half in pleasure half in shock as she sucked hard on the flesh of his shoulder, marking him, claiming him for her own. She met his eyes, a question lurking behind the mischievous flames dancing in their depths. She raised an eyebrow; he swallowed, nodding.

“Do your worst, Miss Fisher,” he rasped out, almost smiling.

“Oh I'm not sure you're ready for that Jack, we'll have to see.”

She resumed her slow journey down his body, leaving a trail of little bruises in her wake. She had marked him before - the bloody scratch of nails in the heat of passion - he'd liked it and had told her so, eyes smiling as she placed healing kisses against his broken skin. This was different, this steady, deliberate marking of her territory, each tiny bruise a brand – he could feel her possession in every sharp sting through to the bottom of his soul. There was no denying it now, he was bound and captured by more than silky knots against the headboard, he was hers and she knew full well the power she had.

“Mine.” It made his heart sing and his body harden as she whispered the word over and over into his trembling flesh.

Phryne felt a delicious sense of control, an intoxicating rush of energy, coursing through her veins and filling her with fire. Jack looked so open and vulnerable, so beautiful laid out for her, prone and unresisting. His eyes were closed and he was biting his lip and moaning her name, every pant and soft curse that fell from his lips made her more desperate, hungry, determined to devour every delicious inch of him.

The flowing silk of her robe was becoming an unacceptable obstacle. Jack's eyes snapped open as Phryne sat up to cast it aside with a dramatic flourish. Underneath she was wearing a satin slip, the deep amber of late autumn sunshine, a matching stripe of black lace stretched all the way up to her waist at each hip and along the plunging neckline. The scent of her arousal was heavy, wild and feminine; Jack thought it might well drive him mad.

“Up here, now.” He was surprised that he could bring any semblance of command into his voice, but right now he wanted the taste of her on his tongue more than his next breath.

“Oh darling,” she was smiling at him, white teeth bared in victorious satisfaction, “you are in no position to be giving orders.”

Jack huffed out a laugh, he should have known. “You want me to beg.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“Oh you are going to beg, Jack, but I promise it will be worth it.”

He strained against his bonds before slumping back against the pillows in defeat. Phryne gave him a triumphant smirk before sliding down to straddle his thighs, letting the swish of satin and the rough press of lace trail deliberately against his aching cock, staining the costly fabric with his arousal.

Her touch was lighter now; taunting and teasing him in retaliation for his cheek and his continued, unconscious attempts to break free of his bonds. She turned her attention to the deep V of muscle at his hips, letting the light flutter of her hair feather against the heat of his erection – a delicious temptation all on its own.

Gripping the bunching muscles of his thighs to steady herself, she continued her soft touches, licking and kissing his skin, starting at one hip then moving back up to the other.

Jack began to thrust his hips in tiny involuntary motions, his every cell ablaze, desperate for more contact.

“God, Phryne. Please... please…”

He was no longer sure what he was begging for. He wanted to touch her, to drive her as mad with need as he was himself, he wanted the sweet relief of her mouth and hands on his throbbing cock.

She gave him neither, leaning back on her heels between his legs so he could see the wet petals of her sex beneath the lace as she plunged her fingers between her thighs. She was wound tighter than she'd realised, so focused on his pleasure and the delight to be found in the sweet torture she was inflicting. Two strokes, three, and she came apart with a shout of his name, gushing moisture over her palm.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Phryne.” Jack whispered, mesmerized; it was without question the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

The lightning crack of her orgasm had forced Phryne's eyes shut, but at his words she opened them again and what she saw cut straight through her. She felt herself stripped bare, right down to the blood and the bone; down into the dark places she did not like to look upon. Jack was watching her with such awe, such veneration; the way a man might look at a goddess. There was love in every line of his dear face, so much love; that careful, stubborn, noble heart was placed before her like an offering to break or keep forever as she pleased.

Phryne was no stranger to love; she had taken and received it and its various shades of joy and grief for the whole of her adult life. She had never felt anything close to the onslaught of emotion that engulfed her now; a tsunami of feeling that left her climax far behind, paddling in shallow water. Suddenly, she needed, more than anything, to love him back; to leave him in no doubt that he had her heart, all of it, as surely as she had his. To let him know that she was right there by his side and he was not talking this great leap into the unknown alone.

Jack sensed her change in mood a fraction of a second before her lips met his; not teasing anymore but still demanding, a relentless, unassailable giving of herself. He felt it as she poured every unspoken feeling into her touch, her tongue against his, her fingers firm but gentle as they traced the little purple bruises she had left against his skin. For the first time since she had bound him, he considered asking to be freed – the urge to reciprocate, to hold her close, was so great. But he resisted.

“Tell me what you want, Jack. Anything you want.”

“I want my mouth on you.” He was a little surprised to find he still retained the power of speech; the words when they came out were sandpaper rough, desperate with the need to bring her pleasure.

Phryne was not a woman to sink under an emotional weight - if you couldn't fight it, it was much more fun to be swept along, giddy in the tide - so she smiled against his lips as she kissed him again and whispered, “What a marvellous coincidence, darling.”

She spun around, tucking her feet under Jack's immobile shoulders, pushing her hips back until his head was obscured by the lace and satin of her lingerie, trapped in the dappled light between her legs. She flexed her toes, massaging the ache in Jack's muscles as he reached for her with lips and tongue, licking the wetness from her thighs. She tasted like herself; rich, powerful and overwhelming, and he was sure the sounds she made when he fucked her like this could kill a man. It might very well be worth it.

Phryne paused for a moment to appreciate the warmth of Jack’s breath against the skin of her thighs, the pressure of his tongue teasing at her entrance, building her up with slow steady circles and gentle flicks over her swollen clitoris. Her own view was spectacular; the thick red head of Jack’s cock was pointed up towards the flat of his belly, the traceries of veins across its surface demanding the attention of her tongue. She mentally applauded her own self-restraint for having resisted temptation this long.

The sound he made when she bent to lick a slow, casual stripe from base to head was a glorious vibration, beginning at her cunt and reverberating slowly up her spine like rolling thunder. Without his hands free to guide her there was little room for precision in his movements. Only need. She felt it too, a heady conflagration, burning them up, consuming them, engulfing them in the need to feel each other shake and tremble, to be the cause of the other’s pleasure, to give all and everything without reservation. They were lost to the hungry flames, to a passion far beyond the rational.

Phryne was leaning on her left side, grasping Jack’s thighs for leverage, devouring his length over and over, stroking and caressing his hardened flesh, mirroring the pressure of his tongue as it thrust inside her. Her own pleasure was all-encompassing; a harmony of chaos bound into a single, perfect rhythm. Jack was shaking, his fingers twisted around the iron headboard, the silk around his wrists rubbing the skin red. He didn’t care. He was lost in a warm, dark space, eyes closed, happily drowning in the taste and sound of Phryne’s arousal, melting into her, his hips flexing in sync with the movements of her head and hands. He fastened his lips around her clit, licking at her with quick, sharp flicks of his tongue. He could feel her moaning around his throbbing cock as her hands slid back along his thighs to squeeze the hard muscles of his backside and she came hard and gasping. His awareness shrank to a tiny point of blinding light and then exploded into stars. He climaxed with a feral roar, biting down on the inside of Phryne’s thigh, leaving a deep, red bruise to match those speckled across his heaving chest.

There was a long pause, full of nothing but deep breaths and kaleidoscopic fragments of dazed contentment and wanton bliss. Jack felt trembling fingers at his wrists as Phryne pulled loose the soft, embroidered silk and pressed her lips, gently, reverently to the marks it had left on his skin. He opened his eyes with a great effort; she looked utterly wrecked, her hair in disarray, her lips swollen, eyes barely focused. Perfect.

He couldn’t speak, could barely move, and he wondered if this is what felt like to be hit by a freight train – a charming one naturally. His limbs felt so heavy he thought he might never move again. Phryne pulled his hand up to her chest where the golden satin, damp and streaked with sweat was clinging to her skin. Jack could feel the rapid beating of her heart thudding hard against her ribs as if straining towards his fingers. She bent down towards him with something less than her usual grace and whispered into his lips, so softly he almost couldn’t hear it.

“Yours.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now mentally reading this in NPs voice and...yeah.
> 
> The Tyger (William Blake)
> 
> Tyger Tyger, burning bright,  
> In the forests of the night;  
> What immortal hand or eye,  
> Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 
> 
> In what distant deeps or skies.  
> Burnt the fire of thine eyes?  
> On what wings dare he aspire?  
> What the hand, dare seize the fire? 
> 
> And what shoulder, & what art,  
> Could twist the sinews of thy heart?  
> And when thy heart began to beat,  
> What dread hand? & what dread feet? 
> 
> What the hammer? what the chain,  
> In what furnace was thy brain?  
> What the anvil? what dread grasp,  
> Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 
> 
> When the stars threw down their spears  
> And water'd heaven with their tears:  
> Did he smile his work to see?  
> Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 
> 
> Tyger Tyger burning bright,  
> In the forests of the night:  
> What immortal hand or eye,  
> Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


	4. Midnight Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne have an uncanny ability to make even cottage pie - _the least sexy of all pies_ \- seem hot as hell...also some commanding Jack and table sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks muchly to the fabulous Sarahtoo for the provision of commas and helpful suggestions!

Phryne woke in the dark to the sound of Jack’s stomach rumbling. They had fallen asleep, utterly wrecked and entirely satisfied, sometime around 6 pm and there had been no thought of dressing for dinner. They were naked in bed, her tawny satin slip had been abandoned and now rested in a rumpled pile on the floor, not far from the bonfire of gorgeous silk that was her dressing gown. After the intensity of their lovemaking, Phryne had found she craved the quiet comfort of Jack’s skin against hers as they drifted off to sleep in a close embrace, luxuriating in soft touches and an indescribable feeling of perfect, shared tranquillity.

She yawned spun in his arms; his eyes were open, the faint embers of the dying fire just enough to illuminate the languid contentment on his face as he stroked a lazy hand from her waist to the cleft between her shoulder blades.

“Hungry, Jack?” she asked, leaning up to kiss him softly. It had been a very memorable evening, and every little touch now felt like sharing a secret; the feeling was exquisite, tingling through her veins and across her skin like the soft brush of downy feathers.

“Starving,” he replied, “somebody made me miss dinner.”

“Shocking! We will have to do something about that.” She whirled around once more, sitting up to plant both feet on the rug beside the bed and flicking on the lamp, which cast a hushed, rosy glow over the room.

Jack protested slightly at the loss of her warmth, but desisted as he let his eyes roam freely over her naked form, so slight yet so powerful; he could see the dip at the base of her spine that made her shiver when he touched it and the spot under her ribs where she was ticklish. Phryne was examining her slip critically and had apparently come to the conclusion that it required laundering before she wore it again. Casting it aside, she swept up the silky dressing gown from the floor, covering all the little secret places he had been admiring with the costly fabric. There was something in the knowledge that they were still there beneath the floating layers that felt intimate and exciting; something that was theirs and theirs alone. It was a foolish thought and Jack pushed it aside, unwilling to be seduced by flights of fancy. It wasn’t as if any of this – he subconsciously rubbed the skin at his wrists, which were still slightly tender - was likely to be new to her, for all that she was clearly enjoying their time together.  

“Come along. I think a midnight raid on the kitchen is in order.” Phryne was grinning like an errant schoolgirl planning a daring escape out of a window; a role Jack was willing to bet she had played on more than one occasion.

She reached out, extending a hand to pull him out of bed, taking in his naked form with unabashed delight, her swift kiss full of a tender and careless joy. Jack shrugged on a pair of blue cotton pyjamas and an embroidered navy dressing gown which Phryne had bought him for Christmas and followed her out into the hallway of the little Mayfair flat, heading for the kitchen.

The place was a small but beautifully furnished high-end apartment in what had once been a lavish townhouse now divided into separate flats. Phryne was borrowing it from a friend who had travelled to warmer climes for the winter, and the relief she felt in getting away from her parents’ suffocating company in the Somerset countryside had been palpable. They had swanned around London, enjoying the theatre and a seemingly never-ending series of elegant soirees and raucous parties – many of which had been far more fun than Jack would have anticipated. If either of them had worried that, in the absence of a steady influx of corpses, their friendship would become stale or awkward, they had been pleasantly surprised; if anything, they had become closer without the constant distraction of police work. Hidden away in the quiet cold of the English winter, they had slowly begun to share deeper, darker secrets; letting go of the little fears which had kept them apart for so long and watching them curl up, one by one, to be consumed by the tender flames of the parlour fire.

Phryne sauntered into the kitchen, scrutinising the contents of the larder and the icebox with the same attention to detail she normally reserved for crime scenes. There was a housekeeper who came in every other day to clean and prepare meals, but for the most part they had been left to themselves and were happy to keep it that way. Less chance of unwanted interruptions.

“Aha!” she crowed triumphantly, brandishing two thirds of a cold cottage pie and a bottle of red wine which had been left out for them.

She placed them on the table and rummaged for forks and glasses before sitting down to join him.

“Not planning on making me use my fingers this time?” Jack smiled, helping himself to a glass of wine and pouring one for her as she scooped up a forkful of mashed potato and popped it into her mouth.

“You know I hid that fork on purpose?” she confessed with no hint of contrition whatsoever, “Mr Butler would never be so lax as to forget the cutlery.”

“I had my suspicions,” he admitted. He had in fact, rather enjoyed licking the remnants of that meal from his fingers with pointed deliberation, well aware that Miss Fisher had been watching.

“You loved being able to say no to me. It was infuriating, and far too attractive.”

He tilted his head in agreement and took a sip of his wine.

“I had to do something to compensate for all the liberties you were taking with my desk. I’m amazed I managed to get any work done at all with you lounging around in all your silk and feathers. It was terribly distracting.”

“Not distracting enough. That desk has featured in several very memorable dreams since we first began working together.”

She had finished her half of the pie; for all she liked to tease him about his appetite, Phryne could wolf down food like the half starved Collingwood kid she had been when she had a mind to. Jack paused, a final forkful of his meal halfway to his mouth.

“Really? Sounds intriguing.” he was honestly glad not to have been the only one.

She nodded, reading all manner of fascinating possibilities into the satisfied little smile that lurked in the corners of his mouth as he finished up the last bite of mince and mashed potato.

“Oh yes, and terribly scandalous. You would be shocked.”

“Probably no more scandalous than the things that have crossed my mind, most of which would have had me dismissed from the force in disgrace.”

“How terribly inconvenient.” Phryne cleared away the pie dish, placing it and their forks in the sink before returning to the table and perching herself, very deliberately on the corner of the kitchen table. It was not quite the right height, but it was close enough.

“Show me.”

He hesitated, and she could see the hint of embarrassment or perhaps uncertainty lingering about his eyes. Misinterpreting his reluctance she tried to reassure him.

“No need to hold back on my account, Inspector. After all, you were good enough to indulge my little fantasy earlier.”

“Yes and it was...” he stopped, shaking his head, lost for words.

“Intense,” she agreed.

“A hard act to follow,” he admitted, somewhat sheepishly, “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

The confession brought a rush of tenderness to her chest as she realised what it was that was causing his hesitancy.

“It’s not a competition, Jack,” she remonstrated gently, entirely unwilling to entertain his utterly unnecessary doubts. “Besides, whilst I admit I may have indulged in that particular game before, I can’t say it was ever that...” she paused, trying to find the right way to explain how she had felt. The way the feel of power and control had fallen away to be replaced by that relentless need to give, to let him take anything he wanted from her.

Phryne was not a woman to mince words when it came to her own pleasure, but here they were treading on treacherous ground. Love, that final, unspoken but ever-present precipice, gaped open before them. It was a line she instinctively felt was a point of no return, although they both knew full well it was also a line they had long since crossed, even if the words themselves had never quite been said out loud – although she had come perilously close.

“Intense?” he supplied, repeating her own word back to her as understanding dawned. That she enjoyed their physical intimacy was obvious, but Jack realised that he had been holding on to an old insecurity; the little voice that whispered that a dull, plodding copper could never truly measure up to the world of experience she had – even though he knew logically that this was nonsense –inaccurate and uncharitable to both of them.

She nodded, smiling tenderly and tracing a bare foot along the leg of his pyjama trousers in a manner that was blissfully free of innocence. Jack felt a surge of confidence accompanied by a delicious sense of mischief, there was a heady thrill in watching Phryne Fisher, clad only in thin but exquisite silk, her red lipstick long since smeared away, looking at him with open, loving eyes, until every treacherous little whisper was drowned out by the sound of her smile.

He imagined her lounging on the corner of his desk, expounding on some wild theory, her voracious intelligence a joyous challenge to his mind, even as the heady notes of her perfume threatened to overpower his senses. She really could be terribly distracting when she wanted to be, and there had always been the temptation to give in to her teasing and take her right there, consequences be damned. That same little voice that whispers to you to touch the fire, or jump from the highest branch just to see if you can survive the fall.

Phryne felt Jack’s large, warm hand cupping her foot before it could reach the apex of his thigh. “If you are going to keep that up, Miss Fisher, there will be consequences.” He promised, the deep rumble of his voice making her shiver although the little flat was quite snug.

“Oh I do hope so, Inspector.” She grinned, delighted that he had decided to play along.

Jack’s face was stern, serious, barely a hint of amusement twinkling in the corner of his eyes. It was there, though, if you knew to look for it. He kept those eyes fixed on hers as he removed her foot from his person but did not let go of it. His strong, dexterous fingers traced the smooth skin of her ankle, inching upwards with an agonising slowness that licked her skin like burning flame. He pressed close, his free hand moving to her hair to pull her in for a deep, slow kiss, the kind he specialised in, the kind that seemed to spread from their joined lips to the farthest corners of her being and leave her suspended and weightless, floating in a vast ocean. She felt his fingers reach her thigh, pulling her legs apart with slow, yet inexorable determination; like questing tree roots that could shatter brittle stone.

“No concealed weaponry today, Miss Fisher? No evidence obtained through unorthodox means?”

“Well, if you’re intending to investigate, Jack, I suggest you aim a little higher up.”

Her cheek earned her a bite on the earlobe that sent a shudder through her. Damnit, if he kept this up she was going to lose all semblance of dignity. No doubt it would be worth it.

“That’s Detective Inspector to you.”

He had given her commands before, little dares and challenges that she could not resist rising to. This was something new; it had the full force of his authority behind it. Phryne had never been cowed by that authority, but she had to admit that there was something dangerous and enticing about that air of effortless command he could project. It was always a temptation to let go, to let him sweep her up in strong arms, just for a little while, and carry her where he would.

“Say it.” He was looking at her again. His voice still had that note of command, but his eyes held a question. She could always refuse.

“Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.” She let the words roll around her mouth as if savouring a heady liqueur. “You appear to be a little under-dressed for the office.” She reached out to smooth the collar of his dressing gown, the deep blue of a wool suit - albeit sans the tie - using the movement to pull his lips to hers.

“Whereas you, Miss Fisher, could stand to wear a little less.” He murmured into her mouth as he teased the tops of her thighs with his fingers, letting them trace feather-light over the outer lips of her sex, drawing back when she arched her hips closer and pinning her to the table top with a look.

The hand in her hair moved down to the silk sash at her waist, stroking the fabric between thumb and forefinger, the red marks at his wrists where that cord had bound him to the bed had faded a little whilst they slept, but he could still feel the rough scratch of the embroidery against his skin. He undid the knot, fingers steady, eyes dark, and Phryne braced herself against the table, ready for the onslaught of wicked promise she could read in his expression.

He opened her dressing gown, letting the flaming silk fall back until she was bared to him, but did not remove it. His lean face was wolfish, hungry, his eyes moving with slow deliberation down her body, as if deciding which part of her to devour first. She arched her back and set her jaw, fearlessly offering herself up to him, tempting and challenging and – _oh gods_ – his hand was back against her neck, his tongue between her teeth and his relentless, clever fingers pulsing and thrusting between her thighs.

Phryne had realised early on that she loved to make her inspector snap; to break through that calm control and watch it splinter as he lost himself, desperate in the moment. It felt like a victory, but also a gift – a pleasure he richly deserved – and it thrilled and delighted her that it was one that she could help him find. This was something else. There was power here, as relentless and overwhelming as a tectonic shift, but deployed with a rigorous precision, entirely under his command. He brought her to climax twice in quick succession with a ruthless efficiency that left her shaking and dazed, her cries muffled by the pressure of his mouth against hers.

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled coyly, already prepared with any number of smart retorts, and she first glanced down in satisfaction at the state of Jack’s pyjama trousers, which appeared somewhat constricting even under the dressing gown. He silenced her, the hand between her legs shifting to place a finger on her lips as he kissed the sweat from her forehead, her neck, the valley between her breasts. She could feel him smile against her skin when she sucked the finger into her mouth with an appreciative moan.

He raised his head and she felt the ghost of warm breath against her ear as he bent to whisper into it.

“Not a sound. We wouldn’t want anyone to overhear us.”

Her only response was the silent swirl of her tongue around his finger that had him biting his lip and reaching for the cord of his dressing gown. He shoved his pyjamas down roughly with one hand, stepping out of them and kicking them aside. Withdrawing his fingers from her mouth he parted her legs with firm but gentle purpose, every motion the epitome of effortless authority. For once she made no attempt to resist on general principle – she was always in favour of co-operation with authority, at least when mutually advantageous.

Phryne’s knuckles whitened against the edge of the table as Jack entered her; her legs wrapped instinctively around his back, pulling him deeper but letting him set the pace. A steady, determined rhythm of swift thrust and slow withdrawal that had her licking and biting at the salt sweat on his jaw, smothering her face in the skin of his neck to stop herself from crying out. Jack’s hands still on her thighs gripped tight enough to bruise and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek in an effort to maintain her silence.

He felt her climax in the trembling of her thighs around his waist and the sharp sting of her nails in his back; her hands had found their way under the dressing gown he still wore, but she had ripped right through the thin cotton of his pyjamas. Phryne’s limbs locked into a rictus of ecstasy, her eyes tightly shut, her mouth open in a silent scream as her cunt spasmed around Jack’s still thrusting cock. He continued on, relentless, pushing her down – limp and lax – until she was lying on her back, only a gossamer film of silk between her bare back and the polished wood of the kitchen table.

Jack sped up, watching in satisfaction as the power of his driving hips caused her breasts to bounce on every thrust. He toyed with the hard points of her nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers, glorying in the perfect feel of her sweat-soaked skin and hot wet cunt as he buried himself inside her again and again. It was an unapologetic pursuit of his own pleasure and he realised - with a startling clarity utterly at odds with the chaos of sensation driving him ever on, ever deeper – that it was made possible because after this night, he finally felt he had nothing left to prove. Not to her – although she had never asked him to prove himself – and not to himself. They were in this together, side by side, and he knew it bone deep, in a way he had not previously allowed himself to believe.

He shattered in silence. The modern, domestic glow of electric light glinting off copper and ceramic blurred into an impressionist’s dream of peace and tranquillity as he leant his weight forward, cheeks and nose nuzzling at the soft, damp skin of Phryne’s belly and rib cage, eyelashes fluttering at the feel of her fingers stroking through his dishevelled curls.

“Well that settles it,” Jack muttered once he had regained the power of speech, “when we get back to Melbourne I am buying us a desk.”

Phryne laughed, delighted, pulling herself up and fixing her robe back into place, she doubted the gorgeous garment had made it through the encounter unscathed, but it had been more than worth it. Jack’s casual assumption that there would be an ‘us’, that they would go home together, that this partnership was truly theirs for as long as it made them happy, filled her with a bubbling, indescribable joy and there was nothing for it but to kiss him senseless in response.

“A marvellous idea,” she agreed, “much as I love my Jack, I find I’ve rather missed Inspector Robinson whilst you’ve been off duty.”

He raised his eyebrows, paused, giving her the space to retreat if that was what she needed. Phryne Fisher was not a woman who was known for backing down; she held her ground and his gaze, her fingers buried in the short hairs at the nape of his neck, unwilling to relinquish contact with his skin.

She meant it. It was hardly a secret or a surprise and yet the words said aloud meant so much more to him than he had realised it would.

“Phryne,” Jack’s voice was hoarse, choked with a tumult of emotion that threatened to spill over and consume him entirely, “I love you too.”   

They held each other close in the quiet kitchen, eyes closed, breathing each other in, hoping and for the first time truly believing that this could work. That they could simply hold on tight and never let go, no matter what the odds or the obstacles. There was a wealth of experience on both sides telling them that love was no guarantor of happiness, but for the moment at least, such cold logic was inadmissible as evidence.

Here, now, together, they were flying free. 


End file.
